


We're All Stories In The End

by LunaChi_KuroShihone



Series: Blazing Bright [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired, Introspection, M/M, Magical Realism, Supernatural Elements, Urban Fantasy, Vampire Victor Nikiforov, leo has connections, skeleton-ghost Leo, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 23:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21400567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaChi_KuroShihone/pseuds/LunaChi_KuroShihone
Summary: Leo de la Iglesia lived half a life that was filled with colors and laughter and song and dance and music, and another that almost seemed drab in comparison, were it not for skating. The doctors had proclaimed him dead upon his birth, were ready to offer his family condolences and the phone number of the nearest mortuary, but his mother had only taken one look at him and had fled the hospital and ran home, had called their town's wise-woman.That had been how Leo was made into a symbol of death and the afterlife by his family, and community, and why his mother called him angelito mio and the rest of the town el chico calaca.Leo had resented it when he'd been younger, had hated that he was the only one in their town who was like this: not-quite human but not really dead either, able to see and talk to the visiting dead, able to channel their spirit to allow grieving families one last goodbye. His only save haven had been the the ice, the ghosts and spirits disliking the cold and freezing surface, and they left him on his own whenever he visited the local ice rink.--Or: Five people and their experiences with the supernatural
Relationships: Leo de la Iglesia & Ji Guang-Hong, Leo de la Iglesia & Katsuki Yuuri, Leo de la Iglesia & Victor Nikiforov
Series: Blazing Bright [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1408432
Kudos: 16





	We're All Stories In The End

**Author's Note:**

> look who's back after a summer and autumn of utter laziness, haha  
well. have some introspection and world-building for my vampire!vitya series, now with added Leo!

### Leo

Leo de la Iglesia lived half a life that was filled with colors and laughter and song and dance and _music,_ and another that almost seemed drab in comparison, were it not for skating. The doctors had proclaimed him dead upon his birth, were ready to offer his family condolences and the phone number of the nearest mortuary, but his mother had only taken one look at him and had fled the hospital and ran home, had called their town's wise-woman.

That had been how Leo was made into a symbol of death and the afterlife by his family, and community, and why his mother called him _angelito mio_ and the rest of the town _el chico_ _calaca._

Leo had resented it when he'd been younger, had hated that he was the only one in their town who was like this: not-quite human but not really dead either, able to see and talk to the visiting dead, able to channel their spirit to allow grieving families one last goodbye. His only save haven had been the the ice, the ghosts and spirits disliking the cold and freezing surface, and they left him on his own whenever he visited the local ice rink.

At some point even his mother grew wary and haggard, and Leo's health started to worsen, skin translucent more days than not, the elegant carvings on his Other Form looking sharp and jagged. The greed of his family and neighbors would kill him, the wise-woman had said, while painting onto his skin with whites and blacks. They moved, after that, first to a city near their hometown and later out of their country and into Colorado Springs -- his family never said anything about it and so Leo didn't, either. Leo was free to pursue figure skating then, sharing a rink and a coach with Jean-Jaques Leroy and Otabek Altin for a few years before his parents' work forced them to move again; closer to Las Vegas, this time, and Leo took to the bustling city with wide eyes and a big smile, feeling drowned in the colors and music it provided.

That was not to say that it was the last he'd seen of either JJ or Otabek; they still met in skating summer camps and short coaching-stints, never giving up their easy familiarity they had in novices and their early junior years. It had been on one of those summer camps where he had met Phichit and Guang-Hong, both staring with wide eyes at the American Life, and Leo had taken it upon himself to show them around. Phichit had taken to one of the coaches there, an Italian-American man named Celestino under whom JJ had skated a season before they parted amicably, and the next time Leo heard from Phichit had been through a selfie announcing that he'd arrived in Detroit, baby-faced and sixteen and on top of his world.

His friendship with Guang-Hong was softer, coated in pastels and soft tones instead of Phichit's (or JJ's or even Otabek's, before he mellowed out) vibrant colors and neon backlight. It had been the off-season and they had been skyping, when Guang-Hong had mentioned that he wished he could help Leo with this _sickness _of his, that despite growing up in a family of priests and priestesses, Guang-Hong had none of the finesse when it came to rituals and cleansings. Leo had shrugged and let his Other shimmer through his human skin and human features, and reassured Guang-Hong that he knew what awaited him at the end of his road, and that he was happy to have followed it.

They never talked about it again.

* * *

The thing about Katsuki Yuuri is, Leo mused as he was being almost-cornered by the Japanese skater, is that he is unassuming. Invisible. Katsuki Yuuri is a great skater at almost-nineteen (much better than him at least) with musicality that even Leo with his inborn advantage lacked, but too high-strung on nerves to do anything but fail when it came to competitions.

(Phichit had complained to Leo more than once about it, and Guang-Hong and even _JJ_ agreed, which had to mean something.)

But back to the situation at hand: Katsuki is unassuming, which is why Leo was pretty much _floored_ when the skater had asked him, in this soft way of his, almost as if he was afraid of imposing himself on Leo, what Leo was.

And Leo had stared, hands twitching in discomfort, the warnings of the wise-woman and his mother fluttering through his ears. And so Leo had asked it right back: _what are you, then?_

And Yuuri had told him, and Leo had listened and thought, _no wonder his nerves are eating at him, if he constantly sees the dead and dying._

And then they talked; about anything and everything, about the _him_ that was lying under the surface of his skin, about the supernatural and all of the colors Leo was able to see; so bright and shining that they sometimes hurt, and how they grew duller the farther away from his birthplace he got, and how he sometimes missed his traditions and culture so strongly that his chest would ache and echo in loss, and then Yuuri would talk about the creatures he sees every-so-often lurking around Detroit at night, about how he fears for Phichit's safety sometimes because their friend's presence was so _loud._

It was nice, Leo mused, having someone who he trusted and who understood him to a point -- even nicer still, that Katsuki Yuuri researched his stuff, and would ask Leo if it was true or not (and would ask Guang-Hong as well, once the Chinese skater could join them the next summer camp, and even Phichit, who was a breath of fresh air and of simple humanity, something all of them sometimes took for granted.)

And Leo knew more things that Guang-Hong and certainly more things than Phichit, which is why he kept mostly quiet as he eyed the silver bat that clung to Yuuri's clothes like a lifeline, hung back a little while the others chatted. He didn't bother cornering Nikiforov that day, neither at the exhibition skate nor at the banquet, but he watched the silver-haired skater with something that wasn't pity but quite close.

Their eyes met, once; icy blue and blackish-brown and Nikiforov nodded at him, acknowledgement and validation in one, and that was that.

* * *

It was Worlds, when Leo approached Nikiforov, climbing the stairs up to the rooftop of their hotel, something about the night making his blood boil and his skin shimmer constantly. Nikiforov was there as well, looking over the railing at the city, features twisted from their humanity.

His eyes shone blood-red as he turned his gaze to Leo, a silent invitation.

A cry echoed in the far distance, inhuman in its pitch, and Nikiforov's ears twitched at the sound. "This city is so loud," he said. Leo simply nodded. "Hasetsu was quiet in the way an old bookstore or abandoned cemetery is, and Piter -- that is, St. Petersburg -- is similar, but not nearly as scrambled or tortured as Savannah seems to be. Yuuri didn't understand; he said you might."

Leo whistled, low and silent. "Yuuri knows quite a lot of things, but this is something he wouldn't understand. We -- you and me, others like us: vampires, witches, wendigos; spirits and ghosts and ancient buildings and places -- we're all a step away from oblivion and ruin and death. Hasetsu is a ghost town, but Savannah? Savannah is a city built on the ruins and sacrifices of others, a city haunted by its past. You can sense it as well, can't you?"

Nikiforov inclined his head. "Yes. It's strange; I've been here before, you know? I've visited the Lucas Theatre with Gosha and Chris, but now even thinking about entering that place again… well. I'd rather not. I feel constantly on edge."

"It's not going to get any easier, trust me. My hometown almost suffocated me, before we left." It hurt to admit, but it was the truth; Leo had almost lost himself as a person and would have become another _los angelitos_ to join the others, empty-eyed and vacant, a living corpse wandering the streets. He didn't know if vampires felt similarly -- he only had the vaguest sense of how one became a vampire, and prying was as big a taboo as any he's ever seen. But Nikiforov felt and seemed much livelier in this past year than the one before, a spring in his step and light in his eye that Yuuri had restored, and Leo could see their love as plain (and sickeningly sweet, oh _god,_ they were _worse than JJ_) as day.

Whatever Viktor had gone through to be here today, listening to Leo lecture him about supernatural stuff he should know (didn't he keep in touch with other vampires? There should be a network. Nikiforov talks about these things the way one talks about obscure information, not learned fact, and it makes Leo uneasy, to think Viktor has no-one but Yuuri to talk to.) Whatever he has gone through, it is good to see that he is able to still find joy in simple things, the way Leo finds joy in music and the bright colors of Las Vegas; or his friends, his _life._

Because life is something precious and it should be cherished.

Viktor glances at him once more, eyes alight in wonder and sharp fangs visible in the night, and Leo laughs and lets himself let go of his control, humanity slipping off his form like a robe. One of these days, or in the near future, Leo will loose control over his body; he will watch how his limbs become heavy and how his expression turns vacant and empty, how his hold on his life will simply snap in half and he will loose that vitality. How he will turn into another dead child, just like how he should have died when he was born a little angel, how he will watch his family mourn him as they will create him an altar and place offerings onto it, if he is lucky. If not, his body will be empty of a mind, of a soul, and stay in the waking world as nothing but a husk and a shell wandering the streets.

But that was not today.

Instead he and Viktor watch the sunrise over the city, and Leo promises to give his best in their skate tomorrow.

Viktor grins at him. "I can't wait for it, then."

And that's that.


End file.
